When to-morrow came, he phoned her. Vashti answered. “She didn’t sleep here, Teddy. She left half-an-hour after you left; she made me promise not to tell you where she was going.--She was crying. She said she was sure you hated her or that you would hate her one day.--What’s that? No. I think you’re doing right I should advise you to sail. It’ll do her good to miss you.--Yes, if she comes in, I’ll tell her.” When he had seen his boxes put on the express-wagon, it began to dawn on him that he was doing things for the last time. He still told himself that he wasn’t going. He still procrastinated over sending the cable. Yet he proceeded mechanically with preparations for departure. He saw his publisher. He interviewed magazine-editors. He promised to execute work in the near future. He lunched at the Astor by himself, at a table across which he had often faced her. The waiter showed concern at seeing him alone and made discreet inquiries after “Madame.” Wherever he turned he saw girls with young men. The orchestra played rag-time tunes that they had hummed together. Every sight and sound was a reminder. The gayety burlesqued his unhappiness. After lunch he had an inspiration: of course she was at Fluffy’s. He felt certain that he had only to talk with her to put matters right. Fluffy was out. It was her maid’s voice that answered; she professed to know nothing of the movements of Miss Jodrell. Night gathered--the night before Christmas with its intangible atmosphere of legendary excitements. All the world over stockings were being hung at the ends of beds and children were listening for Santa Claus’s reindeers. Cafés and restaurants were thronged with men and women in evening-dress. Taxis purred up before flashing doorways and girls stepped out daintily. Orchestras were crashing out syncopated music. In cleared spaces, between tables, dancers glided. If he hadn’t been so wise, he might have been one of them. Slowly, like pirouetting faeries, snowflakes drifted gleaming down the dusk. It was the first snow since that memorable flight to the country. The pain of his loneliness was more than he could bear. There was no use in telephoning. Perhaps she had been at home all the time and had given orders that people should say she was out. Quite likely! But why? Why should she avoid him? She seemed to have been so near to loving him last night. What had she meant by telling her mother that he hated her or would hate her one day? He had said and done nothing that would hint at that The idea that he should ever hate her was absurd. Perhaps the “horrid me” had got the upper-hand--that would account for it. Eight o’clock! Four more hours! At midnight the ship sailed. He hurried to the apartment in Riverside Drive. The elevator-boys told him that the ladies were out. He refused to believe them and insisted on being taken up. He knocked at the door and pressed the button. Dead silence. Even Twinkles didn’t answer.